Rising Flames
by Eyes for Eternity
Summary: I'd love to say everything's my fault; but it's not. The Capitol has had this coming since day one. And now they're getting it, whether some of us die for it or not. HG3, rated T for me being paranoid, R&R, you know the drill.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: 'Ello! Tis I, Eyes for Eternity, here to unleash my first full-length Hunger Games fic! *cue applause* And thank you, most high readers, for reading my humble works. I make no guarantee about updates. I have at least 3 other stories I'm also working on, and I haven't updated them in months. Sadly, this one cannot be any different. So...yeahz. Keep reading! Peace!**

**~Eyes for Eternity**

**And because I forget these far too often, I do not own the Hunger Games. Suzzane Collins does. Although, if she ever eBays it, I would quite like to have Gale. No, eBay doesn't do him justice. Maybe some big expensive rich-people merchant market. Yes? Yes.**

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EL PROLOGUE-OH  


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"Gale, what do you…what do you mean?" I ask, scared to death. Almost literally.

"They bombed District 12, all of the districts. The moment you blew that forcefield, they sent the planes in. And now all that's left of the country at all is the Capitol." Oh no. No. No, no, no! Everyone's gone, everyone's dead. And it's all my fault. I started the rebellion, and now I've gotten any hope of it destroyed.

"So…everyone's…you know, gone? Dead?" I ask, mortified.

"Almost. A lot of 12 escaped, your family, mine, Peeta's and Madges. Maybe ten more. From what we've heard, 11 had a lot of survivors, as well as 8 and 4. 1 and 7 had the most fatalities, and the rest broke even," Haymitch replies. I numbly nod my head, agreeing because I don't know to believe it or not.

"So where to now?" I say monotonously. I don't know if I want to hear the answer or not.

"District 13."


	2. Chapter 2

The stolen Capitol hovercraft soars over the mountains, and soon we're passing the smoldering remains of what used to be District 12. There isn't much to look at.

"12 took the most damage from the bombs. Anyone working in the mines had to be instantly killed," Gale says. Thank God he wasn't in those mines.

"So where were you when all this was happening?" I ask. Gale smirks.

"Lunch at your house." I glare at him. So as I was facing imminent death, he was at my expensive house, eating expensive cheese breads from the bakery, watching as I bled? Some friend. Gale seems to know what I'm thinking though, because he smiles honestly.

"Prim begged me from the day you left to watch the Games with her and your mother, okay? It's not like I took advantage of you on your deathbed. You should know me better than that," he says. I look away.

"How long till we get to District 13?" I mutter. Haymitch looks out the window.

"I'd say about ten seconds." I walk to the glass, and look out. Below the hovercraft is an expanse of dirt and dead leaves. Pieces of what used to be buildings lie scattered around, with other pieces of rubble all over. Nothing's moving.

"That? That's our salvation?" I ask. Haymitch nods.

"Rumor has it that they're surviving underground. Miles beneath the surface. There's no other way they could've ever survived, not with radiation leaking out of every crack of the warehouses. District 13 went up almost the same way 12 did. The Capitol only had to drop a few bombs, but the area was covered in nuclear waste, just waiting to be lit," he replies, shaking his head.

"So they made bombs?" District 13 was a forbidden subject as far as school went, unless it was to the purpose of threatening us.

"Sweetheart, they didn't just make bombs, they practically invented them. Of course, way back when, before Panem, those people had the same ideas about it. But America and Canada couldn't make any atomic bomb half as powerful as 13 did. The Capitol made sure to collect any useful weaponry and plans before they blew them up, of course," he says. I've only heard of the two countries once or twice on TV, maybe school.

"So we're living underground. Joy," I say, sarcasm dripping from the tone. Haymitch nods. The hovercraft lowers carefully into a barren field. What used to be District Thirteen, famous, glorious District Thirteen lies before us.

"Let's go," Haymitch says. Finnick pushes Gale and I along, following him. The four of us step off the hovercraft, and the dry dirt and dead grass crunches beneath my shoes. I look over to Gale. He's staring at the ruins, confident. We start walking again. Walking to what could either by our salvation or our doom.

We reach the center of the what used to be the city. Haymitch leads us to what must be the last building standing, a dark, dusty warehouse standing amongst blocks of broken concrete and splintering planks of wood.

"If the sources were correct, this is where it is," he says.

"Where what is, exactly?" I demand. He shakes his head.

"Whatever entrance they have to their little underground world." Finnick walks ahead and pushes the dirty broken door open. A cloud of dirt and dust flies into the air, leaving him coughing.

"Ladies first," he mutters. I walk to the building and look back at the others. Gale shrugs. Haymitch glares at me. I turn back and walk in. The walls are covered in a thick layer of the same dust that consumes the rest of the area. The floor is covered in rocks and rubble, the cement cracking in the floor. There's a few boxes and tarps scattered around, but nothing else. The other three come up behind me. Haymitch walks right up to a box in the middle of the space.

"Here we go. Sweetheart, you see that, right there?" he asks, pointing to the corner of the box. It's a small, glimmering square, nearly impossible to see. The chink in the armor.

"It's a forcefield. Like in the arenas," I say.

"Bingo. You know where the Capitol got the technology for forcefields from? District 13. Now, we've just gotta disable it," he says, pulling out a weird metal contraption out of his pocket. He sets it right next to the chink and presses a little button. There's a buzzing sound, and then the square dissolves away. Haymitch pushes the box away, revealing a metal trap door. Finnick walks over, pulls on the handle, and disappears down the ladder beneath without another word. Haymitch gestures to us, and Gale, hesitantly, goes too. I follow him down.

It's been at least half an hour of climbing down the ladder when we finally reach the ground. And waiting there? Three armed guards.

"We're with the rebellion," Haymitch says sternly.

"Hell, we ARE the rebellion," Finnick mutters. The guards nod, and pull open a door for us. Inside there's a room with three couches, a table, and a few tattered books.

"The Mockingjay has arrived," one guard says into a walkie-talkie. He follows us in.

"The Mayor will be here shortly." He leaves. Gale, Haymitch and Finnick each find a couch. Finnick situates himself sprawled across his, Haymitch is sitting with his feet propped up on the table, and Gale is tucked into the corner of the last one, staring at the ceiling. I walk over to his couch, and sit at the other side.

"So what now?" I ask.

"Now we get the everlasting joys of living underground until the rest of the rebellion gets here and we can take action," Finnick mutters. No one replies.

We wait half an hour, in silence, until a door opens, and a man walks in. He's in a dull grey suit, checkered blue tie, and his balding head has sparse patches of grey hair. His dark green eyes are serious, and his face is strictly set. He motions for us to follow as he turns back out of the room. Haymitch and Finnick quickly stand and walk away in his wake, and Gale pulls me up and drags me along.

"Our communications with the other districts have been limited; the other groups have yet to be here, or to contact us. You four are the first to arrive," the Mayor says.

"They'll be here. We talked to most of them just before the bombs were sent in, and they were all already on their way out," Haymitch assures him. The Mayor nods. We come to a dark corridor with doors lining both sides of the walls.

"This is where you'll be staying. The four rooms at the end are yours, should be stocked with clothes and everything you'll need. We'll contact you when news comes in," he says. We walk down the hall, each going in to our rooms. My door has a gold "K" nailed on, Gale's a "G", so on. The room has dull green walls, oak floor, and faded blue upholstery. A dusty dresser and bed sit in a corner, another door at the other end leading to the bathroom. I walk over to the dresser, glancing at a clock on the wall. 9 PM. The drawer is full of clothes, creepily resembling what I wore while in the Capitol. I pull out a thin, silky nightgown, the only nightclothes in the drawer, and slip it on. I climb into bed, and try to get to sleep.

An hour later, I still can't sleep. I roll out of bed, and slip down to Gale's room. The door creaks open as I step in.

"Hey, Catnip. Can't sleep?" He's facing away from me in his bed. I can still see the scars from when he was whipped on his bare back.

"Yeah." He flips over and stares at me from across the room. I walk over, and sit on the edge of the bed.

"Gale…I'm sorry. For everything. I mean…when…from the Reaping, I..and…" I can't even get the words out right before tears flow down my cheeks. He sits up and pulls me to his chest. I cry and sob on his shoulder until I fall asleep. And he never says a word.


	3. Hiatus

HIATUS NOTICE

Mkayz. So I'm doomed. I have this terrible, crappy writer's block, and I can't get rid of it. So this story is officially on hiatus. I have no idea when I'll start it again, but it will not be updated this month. Even if I do get out of the block, finals are coming up and I have to get in the AP classes if I want any chance at getting AP/honors classes in high school. I can't really guarantee anything in June either. I've got a crapload of crap then too. I really just have no dates set for when I'll start writing again. Sorry :-(


	4. Announcement

**So, uh, I have a rather important announcement.**

**This, along with all my other stories, is on permanent hiatus.**

**Why?**

**1. That writers block I have? It's been going on since January. My ability to write has long since left me. I've begun to fear for the worst. (Whatever 'the worst' would be...)**

**2. My computer crashed, deleting ALL my document files. Which means that I've lost any new chapters I might've started, any story idea docs, everything. Mix that with the whole writing block thing, and I'll basically be taking the story and continuing from scratch, because after half a year, I remember nothing about where the stories were supposed to go.**

**3. I have to read To Kill a Mockingbird by August for school credits. Usually I could finish it in a week at the most, but I tried reading it earlier this summer, and I find that for some reason it's a very frustrating book for me to read. If I knew why, believe me, I would've fixed it. I think it might be because it's based on normal people, living in a normal world, not fantasy people, or people living in the future reality or a fantasy world. I really can't stand reading books about normal people. It seems really redundant. But anyway, I have to read it by August, and it'll take priority over writing. That's assuming I get out of my block in the next month.**

**So, uh, yeah. Not gonna delete them, because I can't stand the thought of absolutely and completely abandoning them to the point where I actually lose them forever, but I'm not going to even spend my time trying to continue them anymore. If you like a plotline and would like to continue it, message me and we'll talk.**

**So yeah. Sorry. But I can't count on myself being able to write again for a long, long time.**

**~Sarah**


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